They Call Me Destiny
by Mels Wolf
Summary: Harriet lived on the streets since she was eleven. Screw her dead parents, forget her dead aunt, and that orphanage could bugger off. She was 14 and only needed herself. But Voldemort didn't care. She was joining the Wizarding World whether she liked it or not. FEM!HARRY, GREY!HARRY, POLITICAL!HARRY, AU, STARTS IN YEAR 4, WARNINGS: ABUSE, CURSING, SEXUAL (see rest inside)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! So, I've recently decided to get some writing practice in. I'm taking a writing course on Coursera and am looking towards getting published, but first I really need to polish up my writing and become better acquainted with deadlines. This will be my experiment story. I would love to receive constructive criticism on it; however, if you simply don't like the topics then it's strictly Don't Like, Don't Read.**

 **I'll only put this warnings up once so PLEASE READ. This story may contain the following themes: DRUGS (use, abuse, distribution), SEX (sexual themes, underage, rape, molestation, heterosexuality, homosexuality), ALCOHOL (abuse, underage), SUICIDE (depression, suicide), MURDER (blood, gore, torture, dark themes), STRONG LANGUAGE (excessive cursing). RATED M for MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY.**

 **This story has no character bashing. Each and every character is complex and I leave it up to you, the reader, to decide where the character falls on the spectrum of Bad vs. Good.**

 **This story is ROMANCE, HURT/COMFORT, ADVENTURE. EXTREME AU.**

 **There will be slashing for Harriet in the future, though I'm not sure with whom.**

 **Thank you, enjoy, and PLEASE REVIEW.**

CHAPTER ONE

Because Sometimes, Life Just Sucks.

She walked the old, dirty road alone. Again. Living in the heart of England, it was hard to find a road to even be by yourself to walk alone, but she had managed. Between two almost-never used streets was one very small, ugly, dirty alley-way that she told herself was _her road._ No one else's. Just her's.

She walked it by herself for two reasons. One, no one had any business walking with her anywhere at two o'clock at night, especially to her "house," and if she ever found anyone even attempting to follow her to her "house" she would kick their arse and not lose a single wink of sleep over it. Two, she was simply alone.

Harriet Lillian Potter hadn't had anyone positive in her life since she was seven years old. At the age of one, her parents had died. Some drunk car crash or another-she honestly was too young to understand when her aunt had explained it to her and Harriet hadn't the chance to ask for clarifications.

She didn't remember very much of living with the Dursleys. She remembered a cupboard that would have been constantly shrouded in darkness if not for the lamp her aunt had given her. The cupboard wasn't too bad, she always told herself. It was cramped and dusty, but it wasn't unwelcoming. Her aunt, distant but the closest woman she had to a mother, gave her warm blankets and fluffy pillows. She remembered the clothes she wore. They also weren't that bad. Not old, but not new. One of Dudley's friend's older sister had given them to her as hand-me-downs. She remembered Dudley well. He had a mean streak to the boys around him, but he was always protective of her. _"_ _Mum says to make sure no one hits ya. 'Cuz ya a girl and all! 'Cuz ya my cousin!"_ He wasn't overly nice to her. He didn't invite her to play games with him on the playground, nor did he share his room with her on the second floor. But, he did stop his stupid little gang from beating her up when they attempted their first game of "Harriet Hunting" when she was five. So, he wasn't that bad in her book. She also remembered Uncle Vernon and the way he hated her existence. The way he would lash out at her verbally when in front of her aunt and physically when her aunt was gone with Dudley somewhere. Occasionally he left bruises, and only once had he broken a bone, but they had all healed and, magnificently, looked like an accident.

At the age of seven, Harriet's second most clear memory, only falling behind a bright green light that was so clear in all her nightmares she was sure it was a memory, was staring at the dead face of her aunt that had committed suicide in her tiny cupboard.

It was also the moment she realized that she didn't want to have a mother ever, ever again.

The memory smears in her mind the way her aunt's blood had smeared against her hands when she tried to wake her up, unaware of the bullet hole in her head, completely oblivious to the brain splatter against the wall, and not even seeing the gun that laid in her aunt's hand. Looking back at it now, she wondered if she had just refused to see it. There was no way she could have missed it. She must have just been a child, blocking out the things she just wasn't ready to accept.

But, she was no longer a child. Her four years in the orphanage, which she had reasonably deemed as The Hell Years-where she was completely sure she pissed off God and she must have been receiving some wicked form of cruel punishment because no way should anyone ever have to live through such cruel, wicked pain _ever_ in their lives-had made sure she wasn't a child anymore. She wasn't sure what she hated remembering the most: The green light, her aunt's suicide, or The Hell Years.

All were bloody shit and kept her awake at night.

She had escaped Hell at the age of eleven, when, do to circumstances she swore she would never think about again, she decided she was definitely adult enough to live on her own. The first few months had been scary, but eventually Harriet had found the street-rat in her and adapted well. She didn't have an overabundance of food and only had one rucksack of personal belongings, but she didn't freeze at night and wasn't sleeping in the rubbish, so it wasn't _that_ bad. She had learned how to fight from Dudley and put it to active use during The Hell Years, which later bled into her street life. She had fought against, befriended, drank with, smoked out, defended, and deceived people of all age, race, and gender. She's gone from playing the part of Innocent Virgin Harriet to Sexy Casanova Harry-the male equivalent she had to concoct to save her trouble on the street. Women were weak, she had decided one day when she was young staring down at bruised body of a street whore that she passed by. All they did was go around getting killed or killing themselves. She wasn't really down for either of those options.

Harriet praised her street smarts, which was why she was highly annoyed when she heard the crack of a shard of glass being stepped on. It was a noise she had trained her ears to recognize. Living in the city, it was one of the biggest giveaways to good-for-nothings.

She reacted quickly, pulling out her pocket knife. But, she wasn't expecting a low-blow move. She wasn't expecting Jesus of course, but she definitely wasn't expecting to bring a knife to a gun fight.

She was looking down the barrel of a magnum.

"Oh, shit," she mumbled. Her body tensed. Of course she had seen a gun. She's even held and used guns for her own safety when situations had arisen, but she always refused to keep a gun on her person. She hated them, in all honesty. She had tried once to carry a gun on her, but the weight hanging from her waist reminded her of her aunt. It hadn't lasted more than two days before she sold it.

"Well," a scruffy man, perhaps mid-thirties, brought her back to reality. "Wha' do we got 'ere? How ya, beaut'?" Even from the fifteen feet of distance between them, Harriet could smell the liquor on the man. "How 'bout showin' me a good old time, ya?" Harriet scrunched her brows together, confused as to why he would- _Oh, damnit._ She realized only then that she was Harriet and not Harry at the moment, having opted to wear only her undershirt because of the heat and taking off the black beanie which she used to hide her long, tangled black locks. _What great fucking luck._

"Listen here, _bastard_ ," she hissed out. "I'm not doing anything, and either you're gonna shoot me right now or go the fuck away." She wasn't playing these mind games. She had only been overpowered once in her life, during The Hell Years, and she swore she would rather die than go through that near-rape experience ever again in her life. She'd take a bullet from this man before she'd let him do anything to her. He was grossly, snaggletoothed, and an obvious drug-user. He was below her.

His glazed over eyes widened at her declaration. "You bitch," he dragged out. "You crazy, fuckin' bitch."

She had expected more out of him. She had expected him to come closer, to lunge at her, to at least do something to make some kind of contact and give her the chance to disarm him. She'd learned this on the street-nobody is out there to simply kill you. They want more, and they want it while you're breathing, so if she could get them to get close enough than she could simply disarm them which, she had to admit, she had gotten pretty damn good at.

She wasn't expecting him to simply pull the trigger.

Maybe this man was crazy? He was drunk after all. But, drunk didn't mean murderous. Unless he was already a murderer? He had the gun-oh wait, she had a gun once too and she's never murdered. Either way, she hadn't once thought he'd actually use it. Most don't. But, this man hadn't even thought about it. He pulled the trigger like it was his only job in life, like he had rehearsed it over and over in his head to make sure he got it just right.

She heard it before she felt it. She felt her chest go numb and couldn't for the life of her figure out why. Why didn't it suddenly go numb? Was it heart burn? Was she having a heart attack? She was just walking to her house when and-she looked down- _Oh. Oh, God._ She blinked once. Twice. Tried to gasp but couldn't. _I've been shot_. Only after the visual confirmation did the pain, which came in waves, hit her. It was followed by nausea and she tried desperately to keep the panic at bay. She looked up, only just remembering that the bullet certainly didn't come out of thin air and that the man was still there- _Oh, fuck, he's gone._ Where the bloody hell had he gone? She couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing that he was gone, but at the time she didn't bloody well care. She put her hand over her chest and wondered, if not briefly, how the bullet missed her heart. She was almost positive it should have hit her heart.

She rode through the waves of pain as she walked to her house, all her energy leaving her. She felt tired. More tired than she's ever felt and considering her constant nightmares, she's felt pretty tired before. She knew she couldn't sleep now. She didn't know where the man was.

No one knew where she was-

-The ground moved up towards her, slamming against her body-

-If she slept now no one would-

-Reality skewed. She vaguely noticed the alley-cat hiding under the rubbish bins-

-find her she would just-

- _Oh, fuck, I'm tired_ -

-rot here-

- _Do you have dreams or nightmares when you die?_

* * *

The Wizarding World didn't have time for the weak.

Now, don't get it wrong. They knew when it was time to take a tea break and enjoy life around you but _that better be the best damn tea and an amazing life you've built around you_ because that's just the way it was in Wizarding Britain. After Lord Voldemort had won the war, ratification had taken place. Rules changed and beliefs followed.

It was never that hard, Voldemort told himself. He was a politician, a wizard, a warrior, and a survivor. He was the smartest, greatest man he knew. He had attacked the strongest families first, both literally and politically. Most he had converted. Those he couldn't, he simply killed. Of course, all the Slytherin families followed happily. They were going to rule. He had only a few mudblood Ravenclaws try to fight him. Hufflepuff was split in half-one half blindly following Albus, the other half blindly following himself. While Hufflepuffs weren't the strongest of his followers, they were definitely the most loyal-right behind Slytherins, of course. The Gryffindors were the biggest hurdle. But, he had expected that much. Most families, like the Longbottoms, simply refused. They perished. However, he was able to sway a few major families, like the Weasleys. This was probably due to the fact that their overbearing Molly Weasley knew that it meant loyalty or death. Of course she would protect her children.

He had most of Wizarding Britain figured out and was running it rather smoothly at this point, even branching out his reach to France and considering Germany. One step at a time, he told himself. He wasn't about to waste everything from being too hasty. He despised haste and, as if on cue, his study doors slammed open and one Peter Pettigrew came stumbling in after.

"My Lord, my Lord," he said, bowing deeply. Voldemort curled his lip in distaste.

"Spit it out Pettigrew or get out, either way, you have two seconds." He rolled his wand in his hand for emphasis and smiled at the visible flinch from his most tedious follower.

"My Lord," Pettigrew began, taking a deep breath, and continued, "the Muggle-Born Retrieval Trace just activated."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes in anger and the slow revealing.

"They found Harriet Lillian Potter."

The first name Voldemort didn't bother to recognize. He didn't care to know this child informally; however, the last name rang a bell. The Potters. Pure-blood name. Gryffindor. And oh, did he have so few pure-blooded Gryffindors fighting for his cause. But, that didn't explain why Pettigrew thought it gave him the right to barge into his Lord's study so rudely. He vaguely wondered the age of this Potter, considering the parents had died so long ago. Most muggle-borns were taken out of their homes around the age of three. The oldest had been five.

"What, pray tell, does that have to do with me, the Ruler of Wizarding Britain?"

Pettigrew froze. What _did_ it have to do with his Lord? When the news spread, which it certainly did, it was like everyone was frozen in time. This girl who everyone thought was dead, wasn't not only dead, but managed to escape the Muggle-Born-Retrieval Trace for years. She would at least be a teenager. It was a sad day to all wizards when they found the Potters murdered-it was a strong bloodline.

"M-m-my L-Lord I-"

" _Crucio._ "

* * *

She woke up hungry. And tired. And _alive_. But, mostly hungry and tired.

She wasn't sure how she had done it, honestly. No one survives a bullet wound like that. But, when she had woken up in her home-a small abandoned warehouse- _breathing and alive_ it made her wonder first, how the fuck she got there and two, _who the fuck got her there_.

And just how the bloody hell does a bullet wound _heal over night_!?

She tried to rap her head around it as she nibbled into her stale bread. She wasn't sure what to think of whoever saved her. Sadly, it meant she would have to find a new house. She couldn't risk someone knowing where she lived. That could only bring trouble. She also didn't like the idea of anyone touching her in general, but also in such a private spot. Sure, at times she had played the flirt to get something she needed, but never did she go all the way. She's never kissed a person or let anyone touch her for anything.

She was almost done with her bread when she nearly received whiplash from turning her head too fast.

"Pack your things."

She was seeing things. She was hearing things. That's it. She's hearing things and turned her head too fast and now she's seeing things from whiplash. _Is that even what whiplash_ does?

Just to the side of her, but a respectable twenty or so feet away, was a man with greasy black hair, a long, pointy nose, eyes so black she couldn't even make out the irises, dressed in all black and a trench coat.

She couldn't help but let a giggle escape.

"Oh, my god," she said between giggles. "Oh, god, you're probably gonna like, kill me or something, huh? How the fuck did you get here?" The all-black man narrowed his eyes-though at her lunatic giggles or cursing she didn't know-and repeated himself.

"Pack your things. We're leaving now." Harriet's face hardened at the use of _we._

"I don't know who the fuck-"

" _Watch. Your. Tongue._ " He hissed through clenched jaws and Harriet snapped her mouth shut. He reminded her of the old, grumpy men near the retirement home. The ones that spouted about wars and how teenagers nowadays didn't have respect and blah, blah, blah. As much as she hated being around old, grumpy people, she didn't have it in her to be a bitch to them.

Something about this man just screamed _Don't Fuck With Me._

She almost liked it. Almost.

"Once again," she started slowly, "I still don't know you. I won't go with you anywhere."

"You don't need to know me," he drawled out equally slowly, as though each word was dipped in poison. "But, we all know you. Harriet," they made eye contact. " _Lillian,_ " he hissed. "Potter," he finished it slowly, clearly, and cruelly. He had said it with such conviction that Harriet would have sworn she was some murderer who had just gotten caught. And while she's seen a lot of dead people, she was positive she was no murderer.

She didn't know what to think. She was sure she was just verbally challenged. In the streets, you only spoke like that to someone if you were out for blood. Was this man out for blood? She clenched her fists and, with eyes still wide and a voice still laced with the shock from the sudden appearance of the man, said the first thing that she always said to people who were out to end her life.

" _Fuck. You._ "

She refused to move slow again, so this time when his right arm came up, she bolted. She was proud of herself. She didn't even falter when the man pulled out a stick instead of a gun.

She did, however, falter when her body simply stopped moving.

And then everything went black. Again.

* * *

Her head felt like an old, rickety, wooden door that someone was banging their fist against urgently. The thumping was a rhythm she could have danced to, if she didn't feel absolutely sick. She realized only now that she must have fallen asleep to be waking up, and that somewhere between the bile that was rising to her throat and the steady migraine, she was suppose to open her eyes. So she did, slowly.

She opened a sliver of her eyes and promptly shut them. The light, so bright it should only be seen at the end of the tunnel- _So am I dying?_ -almost made the bile win the fight.

She took a deep breath and tried once more. Slowly she opened her eyes and with only a pause to allow herself to become adjusted to the harsh light, she finally got her first look around a room.

It seemed like a demented doctor's office. Eyes floated in jars. There was gross looking back substances in viles on a dark, tall wooden shelf on one side of the room. On the other side of the room was an identical shelf, but this one was full of books. Harriet loved books, but each of these books looked old and dusty and she would fear that if she touched them they would simply break apart under her touch. There were no windows, which only made the brick walls feel more confining.

She realized she was on a lab table. _The kind you sit on when the doctor turns to his nurses and say, "She won't make it. Call the time,"_ she thought to herself. She didn't have any intentions of letting anyone do anything to her, and with one last thought about how no one was going to call her time, she hopped off the table, content with the fact that her dark jeans that were comfortably loose on her, her plain, black undershirt, and the black bandanna wound tightly around her right wrist, were all perfectly in tack. Even her black boots were still double-knotted.

 _At least no one touched me._

She hadn't made it further than five steps towards the only mahogany door in the room before it slammed open on its own accord.

"Did you enjoy your nap, Potter?"

Oh, what the hell! Who the hell _was this_? This man in the damn black! What stirred him to talk to her in such a tone-a simple fourteen year old girl that he had kidnapped off the street! A million questions ran through her mind. _Who are you? Where am I? How do you know my name?_ She had never been kidnapped and from what she'd seen on the telly, these were the questions every blond-haired bimbo asked her captive right before they were murdered.

"Why do you wear all black?" she blurted out. Okay, so maybe she didn't want to ask the typical kidnapped-questions, but she supposed she should have came up with something better than this stranger's clothing style.

At least the look on his face was funny.

There was a long pause before the man in front of her sighed. "Why," he asked himself, "have I been cursed with another dimwitted student?"

Harriet was caught between being insulted at being called dimwitted and being puzzled at being called a student. She hadn't gone to school since she was eleven, not that she was missing out on much of an education. She had stolen many books in her time on the streets and loved learning, but she'd be damned if she was ever going to sit behind a desk again, just to be ignored by teachers and bullied by classmates.

"I haven't the fuzziest idea." She tried to keep her voice light and avoid sounding confusing. Make conversation, plan your escape, survive. These were her guidelines to life.

"Who says I'm a poor student?" She smiled innocent. _Make conversation._

"Your questions are lacking in questioning." She allowed his eyes to pierce hers, not wanting him to realize just how much attention she was paying to the jarred door. _Plan your escape._

"Is that your form of an insult? My questions aren't question-y enough?" She narrowed her eyes and her smile became a sneer. She fingered the pocket knife that she kept in her back pocket. "Well, fuck you too, you great, big _bat_." Without a second thought she lunged towards him, knife out and fully intending to connect it to his gut.

 _Survive_.

Before she realized what was happening, the man had taken out his stick again and shouted something. Her body froze and panic truly ran through her. She couldn't fight it this time. Her body was _frozen_ for goodness sake, of course she was going to be terrified. A light came out of a stick and _froze her body_.

" _Brat._ " He hissed out. "Listen here, because I will only explain this once." He took increasingly closer steps towards her. "This," he waved towards her, "is magic. You are a witch. We're taking you to the Wizarding World. You will never see your muggle friends or take part in the muggle world ever again. You will learn magic at Hogwarts. You will _excel_ because no ward of mine will be anything less than perfect. With that note, you will also _behave_. Cease that silly little uneducated muggle-cursing, it has no place in this society. You will adapt, or you will die trying."

Her heart was running a mild a minute. Everything he said seemed to go from one ear and out the other. She couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Magic? Muggles? _Ward_? She certainly wasn't going back to school-no, no she couldn't-she couldn't change she-oh, God her city she's leaving her-ward? What the fuck is a-what does he mean-she could feel the panic grip her ten fold and feel the attack, one she hadn't had in years, begin to form as her breathing began to pick up.

He released her from his spell and allowed her to come crashing down on the floor.

She could only ask one question, each word being broken up by a sharp intake of breath. "Who-the-fuck-are-you?"

He sneered.

"Severus Snape."

 **A/N: Well, there you have it. My first chapter. I hoped you like it. I'm American, but I'm trying hard to use British English. I'm really busy (studying for a German test that's coming up in a few days) and I'm a full-time babysitter, so it's hard to find the time to write, but I'll try to update by every Sunday. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter! Was it too fast? Too slow? Not enough dialogue? Not enough description? I love advice!**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Who Needs To Be Normal, Anyway?

At first she was convinced she was dreaming. Obviously, she had to have been. The stick, the funny light, the stopping of her body (not to mention her just being here in the room), the way the man left after saying his name, her just sitting in wonder-well, as much wonder one can muster in the middle of a panic attack-and staring at the _thing,_ because it certainly wasn't a dog or a cat or a short person, and wondering through sharp intakes just what the hell it was doing and saying. She didn't catch its name and frankly, she didn't give a damn.

To combat all the craziness that had just formed over one night, Harriet decided she was just sleeping.

That had to be it.

It was just a dream.

Her breathing eventually evened out and she could feel the air coming back into her lungs. How did it even out? Her panic attacks never end like that. Was it because she realized she was only dreaming? In her panic, she hadn't seen the thing force a vile of gross liquid down her throat. The shock had stopped her brain from functioning. But, now, the fog lifted and the air came back, she grasped what was going on.

"Take me back to my house," she commanded. She didn't look nearly as menacing as she had hoped, crumpled on the floor and all, but her voice held power and she saw the thing visibly flinch. In normal circumstances she would have felt bad, but to hell with her feelings. People were going to drop dead soon if they didn't do what she wanted. _Nobody fucks with me._ And it was true. The few people who had trifled her in her past had paid dearly.

"Wibsey can't," the thing spoke, startling Harriet. "Master Snape says to take Miss Potter to bath and clothes and food, so Wibsey will." It reached out for Harriet and she lunged backwards, scrambling to get on her feet.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted. "Whatever you are, just don't touch me!" _It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream._ She told herself this over and over but still, the thought of that thing touching her sent her shivers.

Wibsey grabbed its ears and covered its eyes. "Oh, no," it breathed. "Wibsey is bad! Wibsey is bad!" It had started to punch its face and pulling its ears. Harriet cringed, not enjoying the sight in the least.

"Hey," Harriet tried. It was a slow speech, as if talking to a wounded animal. "Stop that, don't do that. It's bad to hurt yourself." She couldn't help it. She knew what it was like to feel, as the thing as simply put it, _bad_.

"Ohhh! Miss Potter worries for Wibsey! Oh, Wibsey is trouble! Wibsey is bad!" It ran over to the bookshelf and slammed its head against the side of it repeatedly.

"Wibsey!" Harriet shouted, no longer afraid of whatever this thing is. It was certainly messed up in the head if it was going to punish itself over something like that. "Wibsey stop, you're not bad. Just stop. Just take me to-whatever you had said." She caved. She knew she was played and that she caved when the thing had simply ceased its actions and walked over to her, but she'd be damned if she just watched something like that happen.

"Miss Potter is kind," it said as it reached out to Harriet, gripping her forearm just barely and whisking them away.

* * *

And _that_ was how she ended up there, at a dinner table full of people in black, simply staring at her.

 _Staring at her._

Seriously, did no one teach anyone any manners at all? First the Snape man kidnapping her-and glaring daggers at her for refusing to shower in a stranger's house and refusing to change her clothes-and now there were three blondes staring at her from across a dinner table.

The table was a rectangle. She had sat at one end, the seat across from her empty. On her left was a blonde boy, most likely her age, and to his left was who she could only guess to be his father. On her right was a blonde woman, the mother she was sure, and to the woman's right was Snape.

To say it was awkward was an understatement.

"I thought I ordered you to shower and change your clothes, Potter. Not even able to follow a simple order?" Oh, she hated him. She knew she hated him the first moment she saw him. The Snape man just loved to berate her, and she hated it. She hated people like him.

"Just to piss you off," she said, putting a sickly sweet smile on her face. "Let me know if I was successful."

 _Bam! One Harriet, zero Batman._

"Your very existence 'pisses me off,' as you say it." _Ouch._ Okay, that one was a low blow. It wasn't her fault she was here. They were the ones that kidnapped her!

 _One for Batman, I guess._

"Maybe you shouldn't have kidnapped me then," she sneered. She curled her lip and furrowed her brows. "Just let me go back to my house."

"From what Severus had mentioned, it wasn't much of a house." The woman said gently, not losing her aura of aristocracy.

"Oh? You talk? And here I thought you were just for show," Harriet retorted.

"Shut your trap, _mudblood_. Don't even think of talking to my mother like that." The boy turned to her and glared deeply.

Harriet barked in laughter. " _Aww_ ," Harriet pouted. "Did I upset the little rich boy? Is he gonna cry to daddy now?"

"How _dare_ you-"

" _Fuck you_ -"

"Isn't this entertaining?" It was a new voice, one Harriet hadn't recognized. It wasn't deep nor was it light, but she felt the power behind it. He spoke clearly, almost with humour, but there was a whip in his tone that had Harriet cringing. She looked forward and there, behind the empty chair, stood a monster.

He was above average in height, but not necessarily tall. His body was hidden behind dark robes. His face was distorted in a way Harriet couldn't even imagine. He hadn't a nose or lips or any hair. His eyes, a red that made Harriet feel as if she was caught in a fire, were hard to look away from. She felt the goosebumps form on her skin, her hair point straight up, and she quite possibly forgot to breathe.

Harriet would look back at this moment, bitterly calling it her Last Muggle Moment.

"Miss Potter, I presume?" As he took his place to sit, the other occupants at the table rose. Only when he was finally sitting did they sit back down again. Harriet hadn't bothered or simply wasn't able to. She couldn't tell which. She was still in shock.

"Yes," she finally managed. _Just a dream_ , she had to tell herself again. Pretending everything just wasn't happening always made it a bit better.

He smiled in what Harriet could only assume to be his 'charming smile.' Perhaps it would have worked if he didn't have fangs. "Welcome to the Wizarding World," he stated. His hand glided through the air, an assortment of food suddenly- _magically_ , Harriet reminded herself-appeared on the table. "Let us eat."

Slowly everyone began picking their foods. Taking cheeses, slices of toast, meat. They sipped on wine. No one spoke to each other, opting to only stare down at their food. Harriet felt the tension in the boy next to her. She had cast sideway glances at the woman who took precise yet modest bites. She was confused about the blonde man who hadn't said a word to her. She was definitely angry about Batman and how he tossed their argument aside, not even deeming her worthy of speech anymore.

But, she only felt intimidation by the man across from her.

Now, don't get her wrong. Harriet didn't fear. Harriet _never_ feared. She had pride in herself about that. In every situation she had ever been in, she had done relatively well about keeping herself calm. Yes, she had the occasional situation where she didn't think things through very well, but that didn't mean she feared. _The weak fear. The strong persevere._

But, God, this guy gave off some weird vibes.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she asked, bewildered. She couldn't hold back a crackle-yes, _crackle_. This environment, this stupid game of I'm Just Going To Act Like Everything Is Normal, was driving her insane. "Why," she glared at the man in front of her, "am I here?"

"Tut, tut." He shook his head in disappointment, but clearly amused. _Did I just get fucking_ tutted _by some snake man?_ "This is why we can't associate with the muggle world. So uneducated. So animalistic." He shot her an amused, daring look before his face hardened, overtaken by anger. "How did you do it?" he asked in a susurrous demand.

"Do _what_?" she shot back.

He raised a would-be eyebrow. "Go so long undetected, Miss Potter. How did you manage? I suggest you tell me the truth. Save us both the trouble."

Her jaw dropped. Just what was he talking about? Harriet had snuck around a lot of things, but she certainly had no idea who any of these people are, or whatever the hell they were talking about. After a minute, which certainly felt like more, the man's face became relaxed.

"What's your name?" he asked. It wasn't kind, but it wasn't gentle. Harriet chose to ignore the strangers sitting around her and focused only on the man. She looked him in the eyes, trying her hardest to convey her You Don't Scare Me look. She could have sworn he almost smirked.

"Harriet Lillian Potter," she answered.

"And your age?" Harriet paused, not sure if she should answer. She's gone by many ages, just whatever was most convenient at the time. She figured, though, her real age may be best. Perhaps if they knew she were a minor, they would feel more threatened about keeping her there. Not that she had anyone to look for her, but they don't know that.

"Just turned fourteen." She tried her best to sound casual. She knew she was failing.

"Who do you live with?" Shit. Who did she live with? By herself, obviously. But, she couldn't tell them that.

"My Lord," Batman spoke up, "when I found her, she was sleeping in a warehouse, alone."

"That's just where I-"

"So, you're homeless." He seemed almost intrigued by this thought, tilting his head slightly to the side. He stared at her intently, only now taking in her tiny frame. And she was tiny. Not necessarily short, but just small in the frame, even with the tiny muscles that complimented her arms. Her breasts were small, her thighs were twigs, and her face was thin. It was clear to him that she certainly wasn't living with anyone and eating properly.

"What happened to your parents?" He was curious about how much she knew. He had tried to simply use Legilimency on her, but her mind was closed off. It had mentally shook him for a minute, while they were eating. Never before had he met someone whose mind simply refused entry. It wasn't even guarded, but _closed_. With a guarded mind he could at least silently pick at the person's barriers until he broke through, but this was a completely different feeling. There was nowhere to pick. Not a single nook or cranny in her mind for him to delve into. He questioned how she had done it and almost killed her right then and there when she didn't answer. But, as he stared at those confused, angry, green eyes, a realization hit him. _She doesn't know_. She didn't know what magic was or what it meant to be a witch.

With a good number of pure blood families dead, he could actually use someone with the Potter name, even if it was a girl who couldn't pass on the name. It was a shame the Potter name would die, but he supposed it would do good to at least live on and support him for another five or so years, while he took over the rest of Wizarding Europe.

Not to mention her closed mind. He was curious about what gave her the ability to do such a thing. Was it a potion? A spell? He highly doubted she was a mistress of Occlumency, at her young age. Not to mention she didn't even know what magic was.

She was a puzzle, and Lord Voldemort loved puzzles.

"They died," she said.

"How disappointing," he said sarcastically, hoping to get a rise out of her. He was surprised at her lack of response, however. Her face was set in stone, almost bored stone, to be honest.

"You're a witch," he stated simply.

There it was again. No reaction. None. Whatsoever. He was smiling brightly inside, like a child that had just found a new toy. It was actually enjoyable for once, to meet someone who didn't cringe and flinch at his every word. Not that he minded the cringing and flinching. It felt good to constantly be reminded how powerful you are. But, he had to admit, life became dull when you received everything you wanted. Fighting the war had been a glorious feeling. Winning the war had been a glorious feeling. Albus Dumbledore getting away had been a not-so-glorious feeling, but at least it left room for future crusades. If he didn't have the knowledge that one day he'd be able to actually kill Dumbledore, he would be living a very dull life.

 _This girl could suffice for some entertainment for now._

"Yeah," she said. "That's what I'm told." Her eyes were hazy, as if deep in thought. She was going through her head every time she thought it would have been useful for some magic in her life. When her parents died would probably have been a good one. She could have stopped the car crash, maybe. Spelled them back to life. Her aunt's suicide-well, she supposed there wasn't much she could have done about that. If her aunt wanted to kill herself, she wanted to kill herself.

But, if she hadn't been sent to that house to begin with, then her aunt wouldn't have fallen into the depression. Harriet's constant reminder of Lily slowly drove Petunia crazy, she was sure of it. There were days where Petunia would just stare at her for long periods of time, or occasionally she'd call her Lily, even once Petunia had gone so far as to grab Harriet, hand on each cheek, and ask, "Lily, oh, Lily, why did you have to die? I didn't hate you, oh, Lily, please, Lily." Harriet never had the strength to stop her. How do you fix a woman that's already far past broken?

She also thought about The Hell Years. Magic definitely would have been nice for that time. How many times had she been punched, kicked, and scratched? How many times had she had her hair pulled and was told she was ugly? How many times did she have to sleep on the cold floor because someone dumped water and dirt in it? How many times was she blamed for her parents and aunt's death? How many times was she told to kill herself-

" _Miss Potter?"_ the man annunciated. Oh, she had been lost in her thoughts again.

"I'm sorry," she blinked herself back to reality. "What was the question?"

"Has anything strange ever happened to you? Anything you could never explain?" She had a whole list of them, but none of them involved magic.

 _Oh, wait!_ She hadn't died when she was shot! She looked down at her breasts and slightly lowered the top of her undershirt to reveal, right in the middle and slightly above her two breasts, a stretched, puffed out, circle scar.

"I survived," she breathed out. Voldemort didn't say anything, assuming she was talking to herself more than to anyone in the room. He wasn't offended. He remembered the first time he learned he was a wizard too. It was a freeing moment, though he would never admit it outloud.

She hadn't given it much thought. In the last two hours she had been kidnapped, stunned by a stick, met some weird creature, met some weird creature-man, and was told she was a witch. She hadn't even thought about the fact that she had been shot. That she fell. That the blackness surrounded her. That she had woken up at her house, alive. That someone, and it couldn't have been Batman because he said he found her already at the house, had taken her to her house. She had experienced something that should have killed her no more than a day ago, and she already had a scar.

" _How?_ " Her voice was amazement. She looked back up to the man and she could have sworn his eyes that were once a blazing wildfire, were now a slow burning ember. _His eyes are smiling,_ she regarded.

" _Magic_."

It wouldn't be the last time Lord Voldemort looked at her that way.

* * *

"I do believe Bellatrix is her rightful guardian, my Lord." Severus Snape was trying his hardest to find any excuse to never have to see that dreadful girl ever again in his life, without simply telling his lord now. He certainly didn't feel like dying today.

Well, he'd have to see her in Hogwarts-though, how that moron will possibly pass her fourth year, he hadn't a clue-but Severus was debating just how sane his lord must be if he's really considering making her _his_ ward.

"Severus," Voldemort sighed. "It has been decided. Bellatrix is in no fit state, and from what Narcissa gathered on Miss Potter's documents, you are the next guardian." Voldemort watched the man who was so often void of any emotions, struggle to keep his facade up. If it was another man, Voldemort would simply crucio him for even thinking of going against his wishes, but his Inner Circle was special to him. No one he would die for, of course, but they were the ones who knew his real plans, the ones who followed him when he wasn't yet on the winning side, the ones who had been tortured or been sent to Azkaban for following him.

They were his shiny treasures that he could show off, and Voldemort always took good care of his treasures.

"You will only have her for three summers, Severus, surely you can survive."

Severus frowned. "My Lord, I highly doubt she'll even pass her classes. Her magic must be weak if, for some strange reason, it hasn't even activated until now. She doesn't know anything about the Wizarding World."

"Her magic is something of interest," Voldemort agreed. "Have Narcissa do a check on her. Check her core." _Determine why I can't read her mind_. "And the education?" Voldemort looked amused. "How could she possibly fail, with a professor as a guardian?"

Severus's shoulders slumped, a sign of defeat. He didn't want to believe he would be responsible for the damn girl, but if it be so, he would make sure her entire summer was spent reading, writing, and practicing potions. He wouldn't allow the embarrassment of having an uneducated ward.

Voldemort honestly didn't care what form of torture Severus put the girl through. While she was intriguing, he had a country to run and a continent to conquer. As long as the Potter girl responded with, "Why, yes, I do support The Dark Lord!" he couldn't care less about her education or health.

He had thought of sending the girl to Bellatrix, but even dark lord's aren't that evil. And the muggle-born orphanage was completely out of the question-no half-blood was going to live with those mudbloods. Besides, most muggle-borns were adopted around their fourth year. They were old enough by then for the wizarding families to be able to tell what the mudblood was gifted in and whether or not they had potential and were worthy to bare their last name.

"And now, my Lord? She's so," he tried to think of the word. " _Muggle_." It was the only way to really describe her. Severus hated to use muggle in a negative sense, and would never again use the word mudblood, even if his lord and the rest of the Inner Circle did, but there was simply no other way to explain it. A witch would never curse, dress, or act like that. Not to mention the pocket knife the girl carried on her. It wouldn't even occur to a witch that physical violence was an option.

Voldemort sat at his work desk and began pulling out paperwork, a sign that the conversation was over. "Figure it out, Severus. You're smart."

Knowing when he's dismissed, Severus bowed and walked away.

 _That girl will be the death of me._

* * *

She didn't like this boy.

He reminded her of all the rich, snobby boys Dudley had hung out with. Like she said, she didn't mind Dudley, but his friends were a completely different story. This boy had his nose far in the air, Harriet wondered how his neck didn't break off.

"So, you really didn't know?" They were both seated in arm chairs near the fireplace, in a room Harriet could only guess to be a study room. The dinner had left her mind reeling. It hadn't lasted for much longer, but just long enough for the man, Lord Voldemort as he revealed himself, to explain shortly what magic and a magical core were, that those sticks were wands, that words and movements made spells, that she was in a place called Wizarding Britain, and she would later be attending a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had tried to ask more, but Voldemort would simply reply with, "Read a book."

So, now she was here, hoping for once in her life that she was wrong and it wasn't a dream.

"No, I really didn't know," she grounded out.

"You don't have magic?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Draco Malfoy, as she learned, widened his eyes at her particular vocabulary choice. Not even the mudbloods talked like her!

"Nothing weird ever happened?"

"Stop calling it weird!" she snapped. She didn't like to be called weird or a freak. "And I survived a gunshot wound."

"And before that?"

"Nope, _nada_ , nothin'." Her tone ended the conversation and Draco raised his nose again higher, an attempt of 'having the last word.' Yeah, she really didn't like him.

They spent the next five minutes alone in silence. Harriet fingered at the bandanna around her wrist, slowly turning it clockwise. Just when she was about to announce her boredom, Batman and the Blondies walked in. Harriet jumped to her feet.

"You can't just keep me here," she declared. "I demand to go back to my house. All my shit is there." Narcissa smiled and Harriet had to stop herself from physically recoiling at the image. She looked like such a _mother_.

"Don't worry, Miss Potter." _Fuck, she even_ sounds _like a mum._ "You will be going home."

Harriet perked at this. "I will be? Really? When? Now?"

"There's no rush, Miss Potter. Severus's home is just a floo a way."

Her stomach dropped. What did that even mean? His home? A 'floo'?

"What are you talking about?" Harriet failed to keep the desperation out of her voice. "My house is in London."

"You must have just been born torpid, Potter," Severus growled. "Or you would have remembered. You are my ward." It pained him to say it, but he drawled on. "You live with me now."

 **A/N: So, since it's the weekend and since I don't want to study for my German test that I absolutely need to be studying for, I decided to write some more. I figured this is acceptable, since the story just began and I hate the beginning of the stories because they're so gosh darn hard to write. I've gotten quite a few views already, but no one is reviewing. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

_There's no other option,_ Harriet calmly told herself, staring at Severus Snape. _I just have to kill myself. There's no other option. I'll see you soon, Mom, Aunt Petunia. Sorry about the short lived life._ There was no way Harriet was going to live with this man. This man who had been so cruel to her. This man who wouldn't even look at her in any way other than a sneer. There was simply no way.

Pretend she was a witch? Sure, why the hell not. The thought seemed fun. Go and live in a castle full of other kids waving sticks and wearing robes? Alright, she's had to deal with worse. She was even okay with the idea of never seeing London again. But, to live with this man?

They were insane.

She had lost track of how long she simply stared at the man. It was the first time she truly _looked_ at him. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. His face, a pale white, donning a long, hooked nose. His eyes were as beady-black as she had remembered the first time she saw them. His hair, a let jet black, was down to his shoulders and greasy.

She hated him.

"I'm not going to do it," she announced quietly. "Be your ward, or whatever. I'm no one's responsibility but my own."

"It's good to know you don't require coddling," Snape snickered. "Living with me, you will be responsible for yourself, naturally. And," he added, "most certainly your marks."

"Don't fuck me with, Batman," she raged. She balled her fists and sent a heated glare at the man. Draco stood rigged next to her, following his parents' examples and choosing to not interfere. "I've basically taken care of myself since I was one. I don't need a parent in my life. I can take a roof over my head, but if you think for one second I'm gonna call you daddy, you're wrong. You mean nothing to me. You will always mean nothing to me."

Severus kept his voice void of any and all emotion. He didn't care what this girl thought. He didn't care what her opinion was of him or the Wizarding World. As long as she did as she was told.

But, at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder what made her so vicious. He'd never met someone so young but so angry at the world. Teaching at Hogwarts, he's met plenty of children her age. Some younger, some older. Some who have gone through more in their lives, some who have been coddled their entirety. Snape remembered his own childhood and evaluated it. Had he been angry the way she was? He certainly didn't live a meaningful life-not as a child at least-and spent most of his life scorning this young girl's father, the wretched James Potter. While he wasn't foolish enough to think he would encounter a miniature James, because even Snape wasn't blinded enough to think that someone living with _Petunia_ could come out the way James Potter did, but he certainly wasn't expecting _this._

He'd never met someone as angry as Harriet Lillian Potter. It was obvious to tell that she had to grow up faster than she should have. She was bitter and with a sharp tongue, looking at the world with calculating eyes and judging quickly and accurately.

But, that didn't mean she wasn't brave and foolish. He could see that in her, also. He was sure that she knew who the Dark Lord was. Maybe she didn't know _who_ he was, but without a doubt she had seen his importance the moment he walked into the room; however, that didn't stop her from challenging him. _Like a foolish Gryffindor,_ he thought.

He stared at her lively, angered green eyes.

He was sure he should have thought something like, _Don't be an arse like your father,_ or, _I can only hope that your father's stupidity wasn't hereditary._ He should have thought these things, but he could only find himself mulling over one concern.

He prayed that she wasn't as stubborn as her mother.

* * *

They let her stay even longer at the Malfoys than she thought. The night had dragged on, but with it she was told that she would actually spend the following days there as Snape prepared his house for her. She was sure this meant something along the lines as bear traps in the front yard and an electric fence.

She didn't mind staying with the Malfoys, with those thoughts swimming in her head. She'd take the blonde git over the vampire any day. At least Draco was someone she could outsmart. With Snape she just felt like she was constantly walking on eggshells. She wished she could appreciate people with intelligence, but it was only those people who still held the power to hurt and outsmart her.

She ended up staying with the Malfoys for the three following nights. She spent the entire time ignoring them. She didn't attend any of the meals, instead opting to have them in her room. No one objected. None of the Malfoys knew how to deal with her, and since their Lord hadn't made any explicit details about what to do with her, they left her on her own. As long as she behaved.

* * *

The girl was beyond strange. Draco Malfoy was taken by surprise by no one . . . Except her. The first moment he saw her, he felt his insides do some weird somersault. She had looked and spoke like a complete muggle. The curse words didn't fly out of her mouth, they ran out at high-speed. She wasn't necessarily beautiful, either, like most witches. Excluding the few mudbloods occasionally, most wizards and witches had a certain look about them. They all ended up gorgeous, in the end. Draco would, most certainly. It was pure-blood nature-they were born to be smart, powerful, and gorgeous. Both his parents were from strong magical families, both were smart, and both were (and he blanched thinking about this) beautiful.

But, this Potter girl was different. Like he had mentioned, she wasn't necessarily beautiful. Her hair was a rat's nest. It was long and curled awkwardly around her. Her lips were rather thin and, not to mention, always in a frown. She was this strange skinny-it hadn't looked natural and wasn't complimenting in the least. He would compliment her eyes, if he didn't feel like they were always watching him intently.

She was by far the strangest thing he had ever encountered.

It was the day to receive all the necessary items for their fourth year. Draco could see clearly now the distinction between him and the new girl. This was Draco's fourth year in Hogwarts, so it was a normal occurrence to frequent Diagon Alley. He was even one of the few students who have visited Knockturn Alley (though that had a slow rise, due to the influx of Dark families).

Harriet, however, was trying hard to not be bug-eyed the entire time. Normally, Draco would have applauded her attempt at an aristocratic face, but it was at this time Draco was trying to find a chink in Potter's armour.

They were in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for the new year. For Draco it was simply how much he had grown in the last year-which was significantly, apparently. But, for Harriet, her fitting was only just beginning. Whizzing around her were tapes, tightening against her breasts, her waist, her shoulders, and checking her height.

Draco smirked. It was almost hilarious to watch the way she jumped at the tape coming at her, or how rigged her body would become.

It was also terrifying, because Draco would become the first person to truly take notice of Harriet's body.

Of course, she wasn't showing anything private. But, being put into situation where all he could do was watch the tape go around and around on the girl in front of him, he found himself curious. She was _thin_. Unhealthy thin, he was sure of it. Her waist was tiny, and her wrists were eerily scrawny. Her thighs wouldn't touch for a long shot.

Draco understood that there were some people out there who were simply born this way. He had seen many witches-and wizards-who were skinny or fat and really couldn't help it. Draco, himself, was blessed with a good body. He had his time in his youth where he used to make fun of these kinds of wizards and witches, but now he was fourteen year old boy living through a wizarding war. Still, this didn't seem right. It was off. He watched her flinch again as the tape came towards her again. He was suppose to find that funny, wasn't he? But, he couldn't find himself to laugh anymore. Why would a witch need to flinch at anything?

"Potter-" he stopped. At the sound of her name, her eyes shot straight to him. He felt himself cringe. Her stare was eery. Her eyes, both intimidating and angry, tore at his existence. He couldn't bring himself to ask her what was wrong-not now, not here-because he was sure she would just snap at him. He was a Malfoy, he had to be smart and think through his plan before taking on a beast like Harriet Potter.

* * *

"Have you decided on what familiar to adopt?" Draco asked as he, Harriet, and his parents walked towards Magical Menagerie, the best familiar shop in Diagon Alley.

"I still don't really understand what's allowed," Harriet responded. it was the first time she had spoken without sounding like she was ready to murder any and every one, Draco noted.

"And owl, cat, or toad," he informed her. The door jingled as they walked into the shop. Their ears were invaded with the hooting and screeching of various animals.

"Yeah, but you said one boy even had a rat!" she defended. She went to glance over at the spiders. They were huge and creepy, just the way she liked them to be.

"That blood-traitors pet is ridiculous," Draco scoffed. Harriet couldn't help but notice his reluctance to go further towards the spiders. She, herself, scoffed in her mind. Boys were such weaklings.

"I still don't know what that is-blood-traitor-" she clarified at his confusion, "even though you keep saying it."

"It's someone who doesn't support the dark-"

"Oh, no, Malfoy, you're mistaken," she laughed cruelly. "I just clarified that I don't know what it is. That doesn't mean I give a shit." She walked away, leaving a red-faced, scolding Malfoy behind.

 _This stupid girl will get eaten up by all the pure-bloods._ He was sure of it. She was semi-intelligent, he'd admit; however, she didn't have a single care to actually learn. He already hated this about her. She would simply scorn any person that tried to teach her something. _Stubborn, really._

Harriet continued to ignore Malfoy for the rest of the time they were in the shop. Malfoy's parents had left shortly. _No doubt plotting world domination or something,_ Harriet thought. With it just being her and Malfoy, she actually had the time to browse over the animals.

It was strange to her, to look at all these animals that she never would have really thought as tamable. Yes, she knew people liked snakes and spiders and whatnot, but to go as far as to call them familiars was simply strange to her.

Harriet stopped at the snakes. She hadn't thought much of snakes. They weren't of any importacet to her. She had ran across a few in her aunt's garden and later at the orphanage, but they always seemed to leave her alone, thankfully. She couldn't help but be disappointed in seeing them through a glass cage.

The snake that caught her eye wasn't the biggest snake in the group, but it was certainly the baddest. The black mamba, a slim two-feet, slithered to the window to stare at Harriet. She simply stared back.

 _Black Mamba_

 _Most Poisonous Snake in the World_

 _Male_

 _1 year_

There was no more information given on the creature. She wondered if it had a name or how the owners of the shop knew its age. Were all black mambas brown? Were they all the same size, a small two feet? The creature was slim and looked like it would sooner take flight than claim to be the most poisonous snake in the world.

" _Release me,_ " it whispered. Harriet felt herself go rigged at the sound. No, it couldn't be the snake talking. It had to be her imagination, or at the very least, Malfoy trying to pull something over her. She took a quick glance towards the boy who was staring dully at the birds.

" _Who said that?"_ Harriet repeated, and it was the snake's turn to become rigged. Or as rigged as a snake can become, at least.

" _A speaker,_ " it voiced. She could have sworn those were the words coming out of it, but its mouth wasn't moving in the right way to form words. " _Release me, speaker. Free me._ "

Harriet furrowed her brows. " _Is it normal to talk to snakes?"_

" _As normal as it is for me to speak with anyone, speaker."_

Harriet smirked. " _What a bullshit answer, but, hey, I'll take it. What's your name?"_ She inquired. " _All it says here is that you're a year old, and apparently super dangerous. Cool, by the way."_

" _Names are not for our kind,"_ it said, raring up, though Harriet didn't feel threatened with the glass between them. " _And we have no time for human years.'_

" _I'm gonna go with a long shot and say it's not common to talk to snakes,"_ Harriet hummed. They seemed quite bitter, like they didn't have very many people to complain to. " _I don't think I can have you as a familiar."_ She would release it either way, considering how much she could relate to prisons. But, she would rather have had it for a familiar. She was sure it was costly, but the Malfoys were already paying for everything. She was sure to only buy what was completely necessary, though. She wasn't looking to owe anyone anything.

But, the snake was pretty damn cool.

" _A speaker? For a familiar?"_ It seemed to consider the thought. " _It must be destiny. I accept."_

" _No, no, I was saying I don't think I could have one, actually. Just owls, cats, and toads."_

" _I can eat all those things."_ Harriet held back a laugh. That must have meant _I'm better than all those things_ in snake.

" _Yeah, but it's a rule, I guess."_

" _And if you take me?"_

" _Someone tells me I have to send you back?"_

" _Then I'll kill him."_

Well, that was a unique way to win an argument. Harriet found herself overjoyed. For once she found something with the same amount of apathy as herself! She couldn't let this opportunity pass.

She couldn't help but falter, too. What if it really was different to speak to snakes in this world? If it was normal, wouldn't Malfoy had come over to say something? Wouldn't he have mentioned something to her at some point? The snake had even called her speaker, which sounded relatively unique.

She felt something turn in her stomach.

Even in this world she was different.

She felt her newly molded world of belonging come crashing down around her.

Despite the negative thoughts she had about it, she decided she couldn't simply let the snake stay here. It would haunt her dreams, to be leaving the animal in a glass cage like that. She would take him, she had settled with herself. But, she would be careful to not let their conversations be overheard until she found out just how common it was to speak to snakes.

" _Okay, I'll bring you with me, but on one condition."_

" _Which is, speaker?"_

" _I get to name you."_ She put her poker face on, hoping the snake wouldn't be able to tell her excited she actually was about the thought of having a familiar.

There was a long pause. Harriet realized that snakes were definitely the masters at poker faces.

" _What shall it be?"_

" _I don't know yet,"_ Harriet smiled. " _Depends on who you are. We'll find out, eventually."_

" _Very well, speaker._ "

* * *

If Harriet had thought speaking to snakes was awkward, this beat it by a long shot.

Lucius and Narcissa were staring at her.

Just _staring_ at her.

She wasn't really sure what she had done. The snake thing didn't even seem like a big issue to any of the Malfoys. They had all met back up, noticed she had a snake, and moved on with their lives. There weren't any questions. They weren't her guardians and didn't feel the need to worry over her decisions, so long as they weren't putting anyone at risk. While the paper said only owls or cats or toads, the Malfoys already knew she would be able to get away with a snake, as long as she could master it.

That was the weird part about wizards, Harriet decided. Dangerous things didn't seem to scare them too much, most likely because it was harder for them to die. That was, if her bullet wound was anything to go by.

But the wand shop was apparently a different story.

They had gone through numerous wands. Tom had known who Harriet was right off the bat, and while this unsettled Harriet, she also felt like it was supposed to be a natural thing. He rattled off the Malfoy's and their wands like he was giving off generic childhood memories to them. She was sure that there was more to the man than met the eye, and was sorely disappointed in the lack of amazement the Malfoys had for him.

The wands he had given her didn't even feel right, and Harriet was sure that the man knew it too. She wondered why the man had even given her the stupid wands. She was sure he must have known from his lack of surprise towards every failure.

He wasn't even surprised when she found _the one_ , though.

The sparks at the end of the end of the wand caught her attention. She noted how the drawers didn't burst out of the cabinets and all the lights stayed in tact. She felt something warm shoot up her arm and into her chest. It felt _natural_. She wondered if this was what perfection felt like.

It simply felt _perfect._

"Why is this one different?" she whispered. She was simply astonished with the feeling.

"Eleven inch, holly, phoenix feather core. And because, my dear Harriet," he whispered in a response, the entire room glued to him. "The twin to that wand belongs to none other than Our Lord. It's destined for great things. As you must be, too."

CHAPTER THREE

 _Normal Is So Overrated_

Harriet turned towards Lucius Malfoy just entire to see the complete despair turn into his stoic Malfoy facade.

The feeling of her new companion wrapped up her right arm, and the wand that just happened to be the one, couldn't take away the anger and bitterness Harriet felt.

It turned out that she wasn't normal in this world, either.

 **A/N: Like I said, I'm really trying to stick to my writing now. Please let me know how you feel about the story. I would love suggestions. I'm also starting a humor blog on wordpress. Check me out under . c o m**

 **I would love the support.**

 **Please review :)**


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Fake smiles and happy thoughts.

 _She tried to focus on the feeling of her aunt's fingers pulling at her strands of hair. Taking her hair, piece by piece, and pulling it into a beautiful french braid. She focused on the way the nails occasionally scraped against her head which strangely felt relaxing. She focused on her aunt's breathing-in, out, in, out-and tried to match hers to her aunt's. She focused hard, desiring deeply to not ruin this moment and to burn it into her memory._

 _Harriet stood on the stool while facing the mirror in the wash room of their house. She only focused on her eyes, not daring to stray up to her aunt, not daring to break the focus her aunt had in this moment. So, she only stared at herself, at her gangly five year old body, her hair that was normally knotted was brushed just long enough to allow itself to be braided, and for the first time in her life she found herself in a dress. A little, pink dress. She continued to stare into her eyes._

 _The unease settled deeply in them._

" _We're meeting the priest today," Aunt Petunia whispered. Harriet didn't jump at the sudden information, rather used to her aunt's odd behavior and bipolar attitude, her bouts of silence and then sudden outbursts; however, she did furrow her brow at the name._

 _Who were they visiting? Who could possibly be so important that Harriet would be in a dress-a_ dress, _for goodness sake!-and to have her aunt and her sitting in the same room for so long. Her uncle was even odd today. He hadn't struck her once, even when she accidently burnt the eggs-they just recently had her start cooking, so she was still learning-and stopped Dudley from mocking her._

" _Not today, Dudley," Uncle Vernon announced rather firmly. "Today, everyone is good for Him."_

 _Harriet didn't know who 'Him' was, but if it kept Dudley from being a jerk, and her uncle from hitting her, then it must be a nice Him and she was ready to meet Him._

" _Is the priest Him, Aunt Petunia?" Harriet asked, careful to keep her voice low like her aunt preferred. She felt the fingers falter in her hair and Harriet was scared she had mucked up, but felt the relief wash over her when the scraping against her scalp began again._

" _Him?" Her tone was clipped, as usual. Her lips in a thin line, though not quite a scowl, and her long neck that was currently adorned with beautiful pearls had an adam's apple bobbing up and down to give away the nervousness._

" _Uncle Vernon said today everyone is good for Him. Who is Him?" She thought it rather funny that her aunt was so nervous and she was so nervous and no one could look each other in the eyes even though everyone was supposed to be good for Him, and wondered if she would be able to look Him in the eye or if He would be nervous like Aunt Petunia. Harriet eventually lowered her own gaze from herself, noticing the nerves coming undone in herself._ Don't look a nervous person in the eyes, _she thought. She stared at her dress, instead._

" _We're seeing the priest today," Petunia whispered again, almost sounding desperate. Harriet didn't know why she sounded like that. She didn't know why her aunt couldn't tell her who He was. She didn't know why her aunt became a broken record sometimes, repeating things more to herself than to anyone else._

 _It was simply how her aunt was._

" _Yes, Aunt Petunia," she whispered back robotically._

 _Her eyes did not leave her little, pink dress._

* * *

Memories flooded her as she stood in Platform 9 ¾ . Each step vibrated up her leg. She felt her hands clench on their own and willed them to stop, to not show any weakness in the flood of strangers.

She wondered what had changed. What had forced her to stay at the Malfoys for the rest of the summer instead of leaving to that bat's household, like what was promised to her in the beginning. Was he still her guardian? Were the Malfoys now her guardians?

She took a quick glance towards the family. They all had their masks on, she realized. All pretending like they didn't care. Maybe they didn't, she thought. Maybe sending a child off meant nothing to a parent. How could she know? She was no one's daughter, nor was she a mother. But, she would have assumed there would be something there, some heart warming moment like she had seen on the telly or read in the books. Would they hug now? Would Malfoy Sr. shake his son's hand and say he was proud of him? Would Mrs. Malfoy kiss her son's cheek and whisper "I love you" subtly into his ear?

She looked towards the other families. They were hugging. They were kissing. They were receiving I love you's into their ears. Some scenes were snobbier than others, but none as icy as the Malfoys'.

A group of redheads bounced around in the distance. Harriet only noticed because she was oddly brought back to what Malfoy had said before, about the red head blood-traitor that had a rat. She placed her left hand over her right pullover sleeve, feeling for her familiar that she had yet to name. The weight on her arm felt natural and almost seemed to calm her.

She was contemplating which redhead-for there were many of them-had the rat when she heard the sharp tone of Mr. Malfoy calling her name.

"Yes?" She mirrored his own sharp tone, but he didn't seem fazed in the least.

She wasn't impressed when she stared at them. Malfoy was standing next to her, ready to leave, and as she glanced at the older Malfoys she realized that, indeed, these two could not be like the other parents who were hugging and kissing their kids. She could never picture these two like that. Mr. Malfoy stood tall, his whole demeanor demanding respect, his cane portraying money, and his silver-blonde hair displaying just who he was. A Malfoy, which, from what Harriet gathered so far, apparently meant something.

Mrs. Malfoy carried herself the same way, if not more ferociously to Harriet. She was quiet, her face calm and poised. Her shouldered squared back. Her back straight. Her hands clasped elegantly in front of her dress robes, she was the spitting image of a gorgeous politician.

"Do behave," was all he said. His face remained hard and unbroken through it. _Do behave_. She would never take such an order, but silenced her sharp tongue.

"Be careful," Mrs. Malfoy said. While it didn't sound any less threatening, Harriet couldn't help the sickening feeling. _Be careful._ This woman had said that. This woman with no smile and sharp features and son that she didn't even hug and whisper I love you's to in his ear said _be careful_. She had said it, with a little lift of the right corner of her mouth. _Be careful_ with an almost-smile.

 _That_ scared Harriet.

"Of course," she responded. Void. Bitter. Fearfully. Robotically.

Everything she had practiced.

* * *

" _A church?" Dudley asked Vernon. After they had all loaded into the auto, Vernon began to finally explain what was going on today. It was Sunday, he said. And on Sunday they go to church and talk to people in the church, especially the priest, and listen to what He was telling them. Harriet still didn't know who He was, but if she didn't get the information out of Petunia, she_ knew _she certainly wasn't going to get it out of her uncle._

" _Yes, Dudders, that's right. Church. And you better keep that mouth of yours cleaned and both of you behave," he narrowed his eyes at both of them._ Wow, _Harriet thought,_ whoever He is must be pretty special to get Dud yelled at too.

" _Dad, I'm_ always _good!" he pouted._

" _We know, darling." Aunt Petunia smiled at her son. She always smiled for Dudley. Never to Harriet, sometimes to Vernon, but always to Dudley._

" _And_ you," _Uncle Vernon locked eyes with Harriet in the rearview mirror. "No freakishness, do you understand? Absolutely none."_

" _Yes, Uncle Vernon." He didn't look away, so neither did Harriet._

" _This may be your only chance."_

" _At what, sir?" To not get hit? To wear a dress? To be a part of the family? It all seemed like a day out of a fairy tail, and Harriet was treading it carefully._ Other _kids went on trips like these with their family, not her. She didn't wear little, pink dresses. She didn't get her hair braided by her aunt. She didn't_ not _get hit by her uncle. She didn't watch Dudley get warned about good behavior._

" _To not be a freak forever," he said. "To not go to Hell."_

* * *

Oddly enough, Harriet didn't like the idea of calling the people around her freaks. The idea of magic to her _was_ freakish. Despite everyone telling her that she was a witch, she had never performed magic-still unsure whether or not to call her bullet wound magic, excluding finding her wand, and not quite sure if talking to snakes was really magical-and her uncle and aunt had, for the years she'd been with them, taught her that magic was bad.

This magic was different, though. It wasn't pulling rabbits out of hats. It wasn't card tricks. It was colorful and intricate. It was wordplay and incantations and _power._

Her aunt and uncle must have known. They must have known how she was. Her capabilities. Was this from her parents? Was her aunt like her? She didn't understand why someone would kill themselves if they had these kind of abilities.

She watched the boy in front of her talk about a card, one with a face that moved on it. No, she couldn't fathom her aunt killing herself from this world. Taking her own life when there was so much left to be explored riddled Harriet. There could have had so many firsts; she could have been the one to tell her she was a witch. She could have gone to Diagon Alley. She would have stared her away from the snakes, creatures she knew her aunt never liked, and towards something more beautiful, like the owls. She could have been there to watch Harriet receive her own wand.

But, she wasn't.

She never would be.

"Potter," a girl's voice reached Harriet from her thoughts. She looked at the girl sitting in front of her. She was introduced to her, wasn't she? Pansy Parkinson, that's right. She was much taller than Harriet, nearly as tall as Malfoy. Her body was more filled and curvier than Harriet's. Her thighs looked rather large and well built, her hips curved perfectly to be a mother, and her breasts, even hidden behind robes, were larger than Harriet's also. Her brown hair was neatly brushed, and Harriet couldn't help but notice that her nose was rather piggish. Harriet remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"Perhaps, as it is your first year here, you haven't an idea on which house you shall be sorted into?" Parkinson managed to speak with a strange finnes that Harriet didn't particularly like, and she wondered if this was her attempt at small talk. Harriet didn't care too much for small talk.

"Don't know," she said, keeping her response short.

"Do you know the differences?"

"Draco mentioned."

"Have you a preference?"

Harriet bit her tongue. Why should she be talking to this girl again? She had no intentions of making friends. She had no intentions of making small talk, especially. She had dealt with the Malfoys, and the youngest Malfoy was enough to make Harriet want to commit mass homicide, but she wasn't sure she had it in her to act like a decent human being and attempt this blithering small talk with an annoying young girl who probably had everything handed to her the entirety of her life. She worried that the rest of the wizarding students were like this too.

* * *

 _The place looked ancient and broken. For being "holy" people, like the priest-who apparently was just a man-said, the building they were in didn't seem too terribly holy or even nice._

 _They had gone to a place called a church. It was Harriet's first time ever going, but everyone else that was in the room, sitting on the uncomfortable pews like she was, were unimpressed by the show. The priest man read from a book, told everyone to bow their heads, said a few words, and topped it off with an amen. Everyone performed the act like they had done it a billion times before._

 _Harriet was creeped out._

 _She wondered if this is what she would be doing every Sunday from now on. Putting on her little, pink dress-which nearly matched all the other little, pink dresses-and they'd drive to this old, ancient building and listen to this man read a book and say some words and bow their heads and say amen._

" _Now," the priest said, "all shall come forward and eat the flesh of Christ and drink the blood of Christ. Come forward."_ What? _Harriet froze. What were to doing? She wasn't eating or drinking anyone!_

 _When Harriet didn't show any sign of budging, Uncle Vernon prodded at her. "Go, child!"_

" _I don't want to," Harriet whispered in defiance. The thought of eating someone was making her feel queasy._

" _Do you_ want _to go to Hell?" Her Uncle's words were hissed so quietly she had to strain her ears to hear. She didn't want to go to Hell. The priest man had talked about Hell and Satan and everlasting damnation, and she didn't want any of that. She didn't want to be put in fire forever._

 _But, she also didn't want to eat a person's flesh and drink blood._

 _Reluctantly, Harriet scooted off her pew, her feet delicately landing on the ground. She silently fell into the queue behind her cousin. Dudley was less reluctant, but reluctant nonetheless. Harriet hoped this was his first time eating a person, also._

 _As they made their way to the front of the line, Harriet began to feel sick. She watched the people in front of her take something from a tray and then drinking from a goblet in the priest's hand as they kneel._

 _Dudley had performed the act quickly. His shoulders seem to have visibly relaxed as he stepped forward and then proceeded like nothing was happening. Kneeling, he ate from the tray and tipped his head back and drank. Harriet was sure she was going to throw up just from looking at it._

 _After Dudley walked away, it was Harriet's turn. With great trepidation, she walked forward. She knelt in front of the man and kept her eyes trained on him. He was old and balding and had a wrinkled face. For a second Harriet was offended, feeling as if his face was pinched and bitter just for her, but squashed the feeling. He just looked like a grumpy, old man._

 _She looked in front of her at the tray. It was bread, she realized. In the five year old mind, she figured the flesh must have been baked into it. She grabbed a piece and felt the bile rise up in her throat. She fought it back as she swallowed down the little piece of bread. Next, she tipped her head back. The priest laid the goblet against her lips and tilted it forward._

 _As soon as the liquid passed through her lips, Harriet felt the bile rise back up again. She tried to swallow back the bile, consequently swallowing a large gulp of the liquid, and couldn't hold it back._

 _She threw up._

 _It had happened all at once. She had thrown up, clutching her stomach. The priest jumped back in surprise, yelling in disgust. The followers gasped in shock. Then there was a pregnant pause, followed by a random shout from the crowd, "She threw up the blood of Christ!"_

 _She was roughly grabbed by her arm and yanked backwards. When she looked up she saw her uncle. Furious. Red faced. Snarling. "Let's go, you freak." They quickly escaped the building and packed into the auto._

 _Dudley turned to her, "Why'd you get sick, weirdo?" He didn't mean it viciously. Dudley didn't know what any of the process was. He didn't know what the flesh or blood of Christ was or even who Christ was, or that throwing up the blood onto a priest probably wasn't the best thing, and Harriet didn't know either so she simply shrugged._

" _You FREAK!" Uncle Vernon shouted in the car. Both Dudley and her remained quiet, watching him carefully but not daring to look him in the eyes. "You had one chance! One chance! I always knew you were a freak and don't give a damn if you went to Hell, but, oh, your aunt-your_ aunt _-she seemed to care-look where that got us, huh?-your aunt said to take you because maybe-_ maybe _-you could be saved-not that_ I _give a damn-but no, oh, no, you had to go and be a freak and reject Christ and God and-you_ freak _! Way to go, you're going to Hell, girl, right with your dead parents!" Harriet's fists clenched and she fought back the tears._

 _The rest of the drive went quietly, except for a few muttering from her uncle, and she quietly undressed in her little cupboard under the stairs. As she slipped out of her dress, she heard a light rapping on her door. She didn't respond, knowing it meant that whoever was coming in, not asking for permission._

 _It was her aunt. Her aunt looked tired and heart broken, her eyes were only empty. In her right hand was a folded shirt. They were only silent, so Harriet went to break the silence._

" _Will we go back?" she asked, taking the shirt from her aunt._

" _No," she answered absentmindedly. "I don't think we will."_

" _I'm sorry."_

" _You know," she said, her eyes flickering with something Harriet wasn't accustomed to, "we went because sometimes you just have to pretend if you want things to get better."_

" _That doesn't make sense, Aunt Petunia."_

" _Sometimes," she searched for the words to clarify. "Sometimes, people want you to behave a certain way to get a certain thing."_

" _Isn't it bad to be fake?" She thought she was always told lying was bad, and the priest man said it was a sin._

" _Depends on what you're trying to receive." Her aunt never spoke like this. It was calm yet distant, and it felt like Harriet was receiving some lesson, though she hadn't a clue about what._

" _I'm sorry," she repeated._

" _I tried to save you, Lily. I did. I tried." Her aunt didn't break as she said this, instead she remained distant, contemplative._

" _I'm sorry," she whispered again._

* * *

"Gryffindor."

She could do this. She could pretend like she liked these people. She could behave. Knowing and being on their good sides could only get her further in her school career. She didn't know anything about her lessons or the people around her. She didn't know if Gryffindor was good or Slytherin was better or what the difference even was, but she could pretend.

"I'd like to be in Gryffindor." The girl scowled but quickly readjusted her face.

"Ah, and why so, may I ask?" She was all diplomat. Harriet thought deeply, not really sure why she had chosen Gryffindor but not wanting to make an enemy so early on.

"Because if I'm in Gryffindor, no one will be expecting me to be so sneaky and cunning."

Apparently that was the correct answer, Harriet realized. Parkinson cracked a smile. "I doubt you'll be put in Gryffindor, with thinking like that, but I guess you could try." Parkinson laughed along with the boy next to her, Blaise Zabini. Harriet didn't understand what was so funny, but attempted some form of a smile. It came out as a scowling snort.

The rest of the train ride had been uneventful. They had informed Harriet of a few minor details, but Slytherins were never ones to help out a stranger, and Harriet had already realized this. They had told her about the Sorting Hat, which Malfoy had already mentioned, and that she would have to ride on the boats with the first years. They told her about Headmistress Carrow and how she greatly favors the Slytherins over any and knows how to put the mudbloods in their place. They told her to not fraternize with the blood-traitors, such as the treacherous Weasleys.

While Harriet found the information interesting, she didn't much care for their opinions on the subjects. She didn't care whether a hat wanted to sing or not, she wasn't hoping to be favored by some headmistress, and she certainly didn't need anyone telling her who she should and shouldn't socialize with.

They had disrobed respectively and the train finally halted. Just like getting on the train, the aisle was full of students of different years, all rushing to get off and to the feast. Harriet was thankful when she finally stepped out.

She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. The light breeze caused her curls to tickle her face.

"All first years," a voice boomed in Harriet's ear, causing her to jump. She whipped around expecting to see a man there, only to see an older gentleman off in the distance. He had a grey beard and a bald head. His eyes were scrunched as if he were smiling. "All first years here!" Again, the sound was right against Harriet's ears and she was memorized at the idea of an old man who could project his voice so easily. Her uncle could do that also, but not so well, and definitely more frighteningly.

All the first years and Harriet collected around the old man and waited. He held up a lamp in his hand and led them to the boats that Harriet been told about already.

Stepping into the boat had been awkward. Harriet felt uncomfortable around the first years, even if this was technically her first year. They were all smaller and whispering about who she was. Thankfully, Harriet realized, no one knew her name or her background. It was truly a start-over and for this, Harriet was thankful.

The boat ride was short, dark, and creepy.

Harriet loved it.

The castle was rather large when looking at it. They walked in and were told to wait from the man-who eventually introduced himself as Ogg-and explained that they were to stay put and someone would come to retrieve them eventually.

Very few children made any moved. Most were well behaved, if not gossiping too much to Harriet's enjoyment. She was thankful that none of them were as arrogant as the Malfoy boy.

"Good evening," a woman's voice cut through the air. All turned to the voice and were faced with a rather elderly woman. "I am called Professor McGonagall," she continued. "And now, you will be sorted." She was short and sweet and to the point. Harriet wasn't sure what to think of her, but before she could turn away from the woman they had made eye contact.

She felt her insides clench.

The look was guarded, but there was _something_ there. Harriet hadn't known what, but she could see it being the elderly woman's eyes. Something that led to more-a desire to know more. Almost a desire to be afraid.

Harriet narrowed her eyes but turned away nonetheless.

* * *

Snape never was a man to need excuses. He praised himself on the fact that, when he didn't want to do something, he simply said no. He was a smart and powerful man. He didn't need excuses. But, when it came to the girl, he had found himself making up as many excuses and possible.

He didn't want to see her.

He didn't even want to take _care of her._

The girl was bringing back terrible memories-memories of _her_. Memories of the beautiful woman that he wished had loved him. Memories of the woman he loved still, even after her death.

Memories of Lilian Evans.

For the first time in many years, Snape was having doubts. Snape never had doubts. As a man who had worked for both the Light and Dark side, as a man who was a spy and had put his life on the line on numerous occasions, as a man who had killed, Snape _never_ had doubts.

And yet here he was.

 _Doubting._

Could he truly spend his time watching over Lily's spawn? He didn't have a choice, he realized. His Lord had commanded it. While his Lord didn't have too much of an interesting in the girl-thankfully, Snape thought-he couldn't deny that his Lord was at least watching her. She was strange. To go so long without performing accidental magic would have had her labeled as a squib. And yet, one foggy the alarms went off, and there he found himself, face-to-face with the bitter teenager.

Of course he had questions. Why had she been by herself? Where were her guardians? Relatives? Orphanage? Why was she, someone who was just a teenager, living by herself? Why did she behave so poorly. She didn't behave the way her father behaved. It wasn't arrogant or entitled. She behaved in a way someone had to behave to simply _cope_. Snape wasn't blind. He could see the facts in front of him. Harriet Potter was drama. She was a bundle of anger and abuse and just horrible-ness that Snape couldn't yet describe. But, how much of this was her fault? How much of it was the Wizarding World's fault?

It was Albus Dumbledore that had sent her away so many years ago, before Lord Voldemort conquered. Back when no one could tell which side of the war would win. Dumbledore had sent away the Potter, along with other wizarding families. They were the Light families that had stayed by Dumbledore's side no matter what.

They had simply _vanished_. And not just from Lord Voldemort, but from Dumbledore, also. They had simply vanished, until their bodies were discovered in Muggle London. Nothing more was ever said of the Potters, and no one pursued the youngest child-a child no one had even known was born.

Watching Harriet huddled around the first years was painful for Snape. It reminded him so much of Lily. He wondered what would happen with her. While both her parents were Gryffindors, he didn't think she would land herself in Gryffindor. She was too angry, to put it simply, to be in that particular group. Slytherin didn't make a very good match, either. She wasn't the most cunning person around, often letting her anger and bitterness shine through. Ravenclaw-well, perhaps she was smart, but did she put knowledge before everything else? Snape didn't believe so. Hufflepuff was absolutely out-she was far from loyal.

The names were read off by McGonagall. After the disappearance of Dumbledore, the professor was given a chance to be second-in-charge at Hogwarts. Not before going through terrible legilimency, of course. But, after a thorough investigation, Lord Voldemort had decided to leave her in the position. He had indulged with Snape that Light families needed to know that they weren't going to get needlessly murdered, that if they followed him he would spare them. He was out to fix the Wizarding World, not murder everyone in it.

"Harriet Potter," McGonagall announced. Harriet neither bowed her head from embarrassment nor raised her head in pride. She simply walked to the stool in complete apathy, uncaring of everyone's opinion. Snape praised her in this silently. She would need to keep a clear, constant head if she wished to make it through Hogwarts at this time in war.

He watched her like a hawk. She would be his responsibility for the next three years, and he was not planning on disappointing his Lord anytime soon.

The room went silent. He watched her fidget in her chair.

 _Too small_ , he thought.

One finger began to pick at the fingernail of the other hand.

 _So tiny._

Her furrows pinched together as time went on.

 _Eyes too sunken._

She pursed her lips in annoyance.

 _Cheeks to shallow._

The rising of her shoulders, a signal of her constant breathing, stopped suddenly. She didnt move. The emotion across her face didn't change. Her brows remained pinched. Her lips were still pursed. She was deep in thought, worry and annoyance spread across her face, despire her attempt to hide it.

Then, suddenly, the Sorting Hat yelled.

" _ **GRYFFINDOR!"**_

Snape felt his insides clench.

 **A/N: First, sorry about skipping a week. A very busy week, what with watching the kids and starting my blog. Second, sorry about how fast-paced this is. I'm really trying to get out of this beginning-transition time. I want her to start meeting people and learning about the wizarding world, but I had to get her sorted first. If you feel like my writing could improve in a certain way, please, I'm open to suggestions. Thank you for reading, and I would love it if you could take a moment to let me know your opinions.**


End file.
